Beta Not Get a Fish

"Happy Endings" Prompt: Must end with but at least now we know where sea monkeys come from.




We've all had those moments of brilliance where we come up with a foolproof plan only to find out there's no accounting for fools. My plan just happened to involve my daughter, a fishbowl . . . and a fool.

For six years Leigh, my ten-year-old daughter, and I lived in a tiny two bedroom "NO PETS" apartment in the city. So, when we moved into our own home, the first thing my daughter wanted was a pet. I, the fool, came up with a plan. "Let's get a fish. If you can keep it happy and healthy for six months, we'll see about getting something with fur." My reasoning was she would either learn to take responsibility for her pet's welfare or, better yet, toss the idea completely after a few weeks. In retrospect, I should have bought her a pony.

It all began at Stink or Swim the local pet shop. Leigh picked out a particularly sad looking Beta with droopy fins and a vacant stare. We picked up some food pellets, a fishbowl, and headed to the register. "Ah, that's a fine fish there, Hon." the clerk said, eyeballing the near-dead Beta in the plastic bag. "You know, he'll need fin conditioner and a heater . . . some plants to hide in, maybe a decoration or two. Betas are very active fish. In fact, we only keep them cups to protect them. If you want him to be really happy he'll need a bigger tank." To the shopkeep's disappointment, I refused to buy a twenty gallon tank for a two ounce fish. We did buy a few "extras" though.

Fifty dollars and two hours later we brought our pal home. We set up his two gallon tank with gravel, silk plants, and bubbling treasure chest. Homer Swimson dutifully checked out his new paradise. His dull little fishy eyes showed no spark of excitement or gratitude. Were it not for the occasional flutter of his side-fins, I would poked him to see if he was still alive. Active my foot!

Leigh checked his water temperature several times a day and counted his pellets with an accountant's precision. One week later he was belly up. Back to the pet store we went. "Oh, dear. What a shame." said the same clerk. "I thought he looked a bit 'peckish' . . . Tell you what I'll do; I'll replace the fish at no charge; but, I am going to recommend you purchase a filter. Here, I have just the thing."

The sun was down and our spirits up when we got home. We cleaned the tank per Mr. Shopkeep's instructions and refilled it. Our new Beta, Homer Swimson the Second, did seem happier than his predecessor. He darted about, inspecting each plant and rock with curious awe. This one was a keeper! Despite Leigh's by-the-book care, tragedy struck. He was sucked into the filter less than seventy two hours later.

This time I headed to Noah's Ark, a different pet store. After explaining our whole Beta experience, the owner nodded and said, "I know just what you need; trust me, you'll have the healthiest Beta on the block." I should have ran out the door screaming, instead I smiled, said "Thank you" and gave him thirty dollars. I left with yet another fish, a booklet called "Beta Life for All", a filter guard, bloodworms and frozen brine shrimp . . . it seems Beta prefer, nay . . .NEED . . . a varied diet.

Homer Swimson the Third craved only shrimp. After another month, Leigh and I returned for another order of his briny delight. Of course, they were out. For three days he ate nothing. His little pellets dissolved untouched. His bloodworms seemed no more desirable. Leigh was beside herself with worry. She talked to him constantly, trying to coax him to "just try a bite". I called Stink or Swim in a fit of madness, "Do you have any brine shrimp?"

"Yes, yes. Come on in, I'll have them waiting."

When I showed up I was ushered to a tank of odd swimming things. They were so little, like a tank of mutant mosquitoes. "What are these?"

"Brine Shrimp . . . Sea Monkeys. That's what you wanted, right?"

"Well, yeah, I think. I never knew what a Sea Monkey was. I just thought they would be frozen, like the ones I had before."

"Are you making a cocktail or feeding a fish?" (Note to self: NEVER RETURN!)


Unsure of his taste, I brought home a variety pack of take-out shrimp. I had a pack of "instant life crystals" to be hatched. (Imagine a package of flower seeds labled "fish seeds".) In a Zip-Lock, I had fresh live mutant mosquitoes, ready to be served. I rushed to his tank and sprinkled in a bit of both.

Homer did not rush to the top. Sadly, Homer the Third, the last of his line, had a date with destiny. I found Leigh still crying beside the toilet where she had flushed him an hour earlier. I hope he found favor in the eyes of the Great Scaled One because he and his brethren found precious little in mine. May he swim in peace.

I unplugged the heater and filter and poured in the rest of his meal. (The thought of hundreds of mosquitoe-like things swimming around the toilet creeped me out.) This was the end of the Foolproof-Siamese-Fighting-Fish-Fiasco. No more fish for us. For over a week the tank sat undisturbed. Emptying it and storing it in the garage meant failure . . . and death to the few swimming mosquitoes that fascinated Leigh. So it sat, and so they grew . . . in size and number.

We now have over two hundred dollars of fish equipment and no fish. The Brine shrimp have taken over. Three dedicated "Monkey" tanks line the shelf where I had imagined trophies, gold-star tests, and silly photos. Leigh breeds and sells the offspring locally to several individuals and pet shops (including Stink or Swim. I figure in twenty years, I'll get my money back from them . . .) She only feeds them once a week, and the tanks are filmed with algae that she occasionally brushes into the water. Sea Monkeys love to eat algae and despise crystal clear water. (Which only makes them look more mosquitoe-like as they flip and squiggle behind the dingy glass.)

So, what has my foolproof plan taught us? Love, nurture and daily care bring only corpses and heartache. Neglect and apathy not only encourage pets to live, but to thrive . . . and it's more lucrative. Six months have passed, Leigh now wants a dog. Oh, well. Maybe it didn't solve anything, but at least now we know where sea monkeys come from.